The Empire
by she-mammoth
Summary: AU Stendan in the 1920s. Brendan Brady is an Irish immigrant gangster trying to respect the memory of one of the only adults who cared for him as a child, which leads him to Ste Hay. Ste enters into this new world knowing it might be dangerous but he has no idea what he's getting himself into. Also includes the Brady family Joel Walker Warren Danny Macca the McQeen's Clare
1. Chapter 1

**N.B: The start of this chapter is different, i added some history/back story.**

Not sure about this story, had the idea to write it back in June because I love 1920s America and the idea of Brendan being an actual gangster. There's a lot less Stendan fics and seeing as I don't get to read as much as I would like I though I should write more to focus my Stendan feels elsewhere.

**Chapter One**

_By the mid 1800's Irish-American street gangs such as the Dead Rabbits and Whyos had preserved control over New York's criminal fraction for over a century. This monopoly was easily upheld until immigrating Italian and Jewish gangs began to compete for the territory._

_In the early 1900's Italian criminal organisations, such as the Sicilian crime family lead by Arnold Fox invaded the New York waterfront, resulting in uniting of several small Irish gangs to form the White Hand Gang. Although initially successful in keeping their Italian rivals at bay, unhinged leadership and infighting within the White Hand lead to their downfall. Seeing an opportunity to further weaken the Irish, the Italians murdered both Malachy Fisher, leader of a Brooklyn subunit and Donny Lovett head of the Jay Street Gang of Manhattan._

_In 1918 Seamus Brady, the last remaining leader of White Hand Gang died of liver failure leading to the gangs complete disintegration and the waterfront was yet again taken over by Italian mobsters._

**/**

Ste Hay opens the front door of his apartment to find a man in his late 40's, early 50's maybe, dressed in a bespoke charcoal grey chauffeur's uniform, matching hat tucked under his arm. At first he thinks the man must have the wrong apartment, on second thoughts the wrong neighbourhood, nobody in this part of Brooklyn has the money to have someone drive them around.

But he had said his name, Ste was sure of it.

"Mr Steven Hay?" The man repeats himself, this time it sounds like more of a question.

Mister? That's a first, he's not normally addressed so formally, nor by the full version of his first name. The exception being when the police come knocking, looking for him in regards to some petty crime.

"Yes, that's me."

"Mr. Brendan Brady has requested your presence at The Empire Hotel, Sir."

Sir? What the hell is going on?

Ste Hay is a lower class man or working class as he prefers to be referred as. They may be of low paying wage but he almost always has a job, sometimes two or three at a time if his luck is up. His children have never gone hungry, have decent clothes – well clothes that fit, at least – and even have a few toys to play with. He and Amy may have to miss a few meals now and again, and had two babies out of wedlock, later ending the relationship but he won't have people looking down on them. _'Lower Class'_ suggests that they are less than, but they are hard working citizens, good parents, so he will not be belittled simply because he wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

That being said, he knows he place in society and this entire situation strikes him as odd. That a working class man would be invited to a hotel, and by the owner of that hotel nonetheless. The only time people such as him are allowed in such establishments is through the service door to enquire about work.

Ste had heard of the Brady family, they had businesses all over New York City. When he worked as a shop boy, his boss talked – complained endlessly - of how Brendan Brady has his hands in the money pot of almost every business in New York. Apparently he's a corrupt businessman, gangster type, who basically run The Five Boroughs of New York City. If he wants to see Ste it is not a request, he is expected to be there.

**/**

Ste is silent on the journey from Brooklyn to Manhattan, fidgeting anxiously in the back seat. What could a man like Brendan Brady want with him? How does he even know who he is? What does _"requested your presence" _even mean? He wants to ask the driver all the questions that come to his mind over the long journey, but is unsure if it is appropriate? He's never been a passenger in a car, and on the few occasions he had driven it had been as a delivery boy so he doesn't know if it is considered appropriate behaviour to make conversation in such circumstances.

The engine of the car dies down, coming to a stop on the waterfront in front of the Empire Hotel. Before Ste can do it himself – distracted by the shimmering view of the water surface, the expensive looking store fronts and all the well dressed people doing impossibly elegant things – the driver steps out and opens the door for him. Once Ste steps out of the carriage, ungracefully tripping over his own shoelace, the man begins to walk towards the hotel, leaving Ste with no choice but to follow.

Standing in the lobby of one of the grandest hotels in the city Ste feels inadequate, more so than he usually does. He feels exposed and vulnerable too, it's blindingly obvious that he does not belong. He's wearing a tatty and discoloured white cotton shirt with slacks and suspenders, a newsboy cap and work boots. He follows the driver to the front desk but hangs back a little, certain that at any moment he will be stopped and asked to leave.

"Mr Brady's guest has arrived." The driver informs the concierge.

"Good afternoon Mr Hay." The concierge addresses him, politely and with a level of respect that not even the driver had shown him. Which Ste thinks is odd, although he can't be sure, but from that week he worked as a Hotel kitchen porter he got the impression the hotel concierge ranked quite high in the hierarchy of service workers. Higher than a chauffeur in any case. "We were expecting you a little earlier than this." The man is still all smiles and enthusiasm, but when he looks up at the grandfather clock behind him and then to driver Ste can feel the underlying tension. "But what is it they say? Better late than never. Allen?" He calls to one of the bellhops. "Take Mr Brady's guest up to his penthouse."

"Yes sir."

**/**

As soon as the elevator gates has been shut and they start to travel up on the long journey to the 25th floor Ste takes of his hat, stuffing it into his back pocket and finger combs his hair trying to make it look more presentable. It's gotten too longer, flopping over his forehead and encroaching onto his eyes. He doesn't have the money for such luxuries as regular trips to the barber so Amy normally cuts it for him. Amy's a talented girl, however, cutting hair is not one of those talents and Ste ends up looking like a little boy whose mother has sat him down and taken a soup bowl and shears to his head.

The elevator's operation board is made of reflective gold and he crouches down so he can see what his face looks like. And of course there's a dark mark on the side of his cheek, most likely dirt transferred from one of the kids. As he licks his thumb and frantically swipes at his face the bellhop begins to laugh.

"What's so funny?" He asks, he attitude and temper getting the better of him, covering up his embarrassment with defensiveness.

The man, not much older than Ste himself apologises for the laughter. He informs Ste that having already walked through the hotel lobby, full of New York's elite, aristocrats, well educated men from old privileged bloodlines, and some of the most beautiful women this world has to offer, the time for making a good impression has been and gone. Allen, or Al as he tells to Ste to call him says Mr Brady doesn't care about class. "He maybe one of the richest men in the state, from one of the most powerful families in New York Gang history but I reckon he's just like us." Al continues, seemingly not to need a response to carry a conversation. "He grew up with his mom over in Ireland and from what I've heard they didn't have much money. What's your business with the boss today anyway? I haven't seen you around before."

"I dunno." Ste shrugs.

"So you're not one of his boys then? I know about all that, being a bellhop I'm almost invisible, see and hear things I probably shouldn't. I know how to keep these things to yourself, so you can tell me if you are, one of Mr Brady's boys that is."

Ste has no idea what Al's talking about and tells him so. "I woke this morning to a man I'd never seen before at my door telling me my presences was requested, forty-five minutes later I'm driving over Brooklyn bridge and here I am in Manhattan." Ste tells him.

"You're from Brooklyn, huh? Benedict, the chauffeur wouldn't have liked that much, he's going to be in a rotten mood for the remainder of the week. He always manages to get lost on that side of the city, the narrow allies and back roads confuse him. And then there's the fact that he thinks he's better than the rest of us, old money you see. But his father lost it all, ran the family business into the ground, if you ask me old Benny is no better than the rest of us now. I reckon, Mr Brady had him fetch you all the way from Brooklyn just to play with him, having to drive around a blue collar man like yourself must have been maddening for the man. So, you have no clue what you're doing here then?" He enquires, not taking a breath.

When Ste replies no, he's never even met Mr Brady before, worry passes over Allen's face. It's like a twitch in his features, there for a second before the wide cheerful grin reappears. A bell dings from somewhere in the elevator, indicating that they've arrived at their destination. Allen quickly slides the elevator gate open but doesn't exit after Ste.

"As longs as you don't owe him money and haven't stolen from him I'm sure you'll be fine. Mr Brady's a reasonable man, really." He hesitates for moment, glancing around the room behind Ste. Ste follows his gaze to each corner of the room because maybe he had missed someone in there. But the room is empty, and Al seems assured enough to continue. "I think he's on his own, as long as it's just Brady you'll be fine, it's not the boss you have to worry about."

It's meant to be reassuring, it's anything but and the feeling of worry Ste had been feeling has grown into full blown panic. Before he can say anything, ask what to expect or how to behave Al is sliding the gate shut on Ste's face and he's left alone to face the unknown.

Well, not quite alone because one of the doors on the right of the room is being opened, and a smartly dressed, intimidating looking man steps out.


	2. Chapter 2

Note to anyone who read chapter one yesterday or earlier today, I've changed it slightly, well added a 3 small paragraphs of history to the beginning.

**Chapter Two**

_It wasn't until two years after his father's deaths that Brendan Brady decided to pack up is family and emigrate from Dublin, Ireland to The United States of America. It was August of 1920 and the Eighteenth Amendment, establishing national prohibition of alcoholic beverages had only been in place for eight months._

_Brendan used the beginnings on prohibition and his sister's still non-operational bootlegging business to his advantage, managing to rise in the criminal world through the distribution of counterfeit alcohol._

_With ancestry dating back to the five points war and a large family fortune left behind by his father Brendan Brady had essentially inherited his position in the Irish Mob. His seemingly swift and sudden claim to power was widely resented among Irish-American's hoping to rebuild their own gangs. The stigma surrounding Brendan was further perpetuated as he was an immigrant and there was a general consensus that a natural American citizen should hold such a high position in their organisation, resulting in many plots to remove him from power._

_Once aware of the target on his back Brendan made several strategic moves to ensure it was almost impossible for his opponents to gain any support in an effort to overtake him. His first move was to befriend the right people in law enforcement and the political world, then he decided to make reductions in protection taxes and finally supporting the African-American community in any endeavours they may have for more equal standing in society._

_Brendan's final conquest was to take back control of the waterfront and boardwalk that had been acquired by the mafia after his father's death. He did it just to prove he could, to do what no 4th, 5th or 6th generation Irish gangster had, to get back the territory that the Irish saw as their own. After that there were no longer any questions of Brendan's authority, he had control of most of New York. One day looking down at it all from his penthouse it dawned on him, it was his, all of it. Brendan was building an empire, – hence the change in name of his father's hotel - not just for himself but also for Irish-American gangs all over the US._

_By 1924 the Brady Organisation - as people where calling it by this time- produced the majority of the counterfeit alcohol in the State of New York and surrounding areas, his strong connections in Ireland enabled him to import large quantities of genuine alcohol and weapons, giving the Irish Mob authority in New York City, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago and New Orleans. Brendan personally travelled to these cities, setting up illegal tax for protection, bootleg alcohol distilleries and drugs distribution to rebuild the presence of the Irish Mob and marking his place at the top of it all._

**/**

Christopher, the concierge is half way through a long-winded explanation as to why Brendan has been kept waiting all morning for Steven Hay's arrival when he hears voices coming from the parlour.

He walks out of his office and into the main room of the penthouse to find whom he assumes to be Steven standing at the other side of the room. The first thing that comes to mind is the lad looks different to what he had expected. That's not to say he had been expecting anything in particular upon arranging this meeting, the boys appearance and physical features aren't important, he just isn't expecting him to look like _this_.

Steven is tall and thin like his father, but really that's where the similarities end. His skin seems to glow, has a luminous tint to it, which is strange considering the April weather and his English heritage. His hair is fairer than his father's too, most likely has a blonde tinge to it in the sunlight but Brendan supposes that may have been passed down from his mother. His eyes are a captivating shade of blue, framed by eyelashes that are too long to belong to anyone of the male gender. Yet, on this boy, as they blink close and then open again it is mesmerising. Every single flutter.

It's the boy coughing, a not so subtle clearing his throat under the heavy scrutiny of Brendan's gaze that brings the older man back to reality.

"Steven." Brendan greets, smiling at the obviously nervous boy in front of him. "Can I offer you something to eat? Drink?"

Before the boy can answer Brendan is pressing the service bell twice to let the kitchen staff know he requires afternoon tea. The boy still hasn't moved or said anything and Brendan can't help but wonder if the boys a dullard and the private detective he had hired to track down and investigate Steven negated to inform him.

"Please take a seat." Brendan gestures towards the couch, speaking slowly and enunciating each word and trying to play down his thick Dublin accent.

With the boy seated Brendan neglects his usual seat at the head of the coffee table for the second couch across from the boy, as to not intimidate him.

"I'm so glad you were able to join me."

That seems to spark something within the boy because he looks Brendan in the eye for the first time, his expression indignant.

"Glad I could join you?" He repeats. "Didn't give me much of a choice, I were basically kidnapped."

The elevator bell rings out, startling Steven. It's the same with all the staff that are not used to the noises made by technology: telephones, elevators, talking movies. The chambermaid opens the gate, rolling in a trolley loaded with a teapot and cups, an assortment of sandwiches and desserts.

It's not been long since Brendan rang the bell, Mary must have found out in advance that he'd been expecting a visitor. She's efficient, dedicated to her job, which is probably why Brendan likes her so much, that, along with the fact that she's a straight-talking, retired nun from Dublin. The old lady never fails to put Brendan in his place, isn't afraid to speak her mind, and she is one of the only people Brendan can trust to give him advice.

Both men are silent as Mary unloads the contents of her trolley. Pouring out two cups of tea, a sugar bowl and jug of fresh milk to accompany it. Then she place the sandwich platter out and several plates, each hold it's own slice of cake, pie and scones with clotted cream and jam.

Although he doesn't look up at the woman Brendan can almost feel the fiery, judgmental glare she is burning into him. The hotel only serves afternoon tea between 4p.m and 6p.m, in keeping with tradition. It's around one, entirely too early and nothing displeases Mary more than blatant disregard of British and Irish custom.

When Mary leaves, taking her disapproval with her Brendan addresses Steven once again.

"Where were we? Oh, you were telling me of how I had you abducted, and am now imprisoning you." Brendan asks, smug smirk on his face.

Faced with politeness and a buffet of foods the boy's talks of kidnap are obviously out of place and most people would consider his outburst rude and unappreciative. At least he has the sense to look regretful and embarrassed.

"I just what to know what I'm doing here, right."

Straight to the point and not verbally apologetic, Brendan likes that, can't keep the smile on his face from growing.

"I never like to talk business on an empty stomach. Lets eat first, shall we?"

Brendan prepares his tea to his preference, three heaped teaspoons of sugar and just a dash of milk. Just as he's about to take a bit of bread pudding with vanilla whiskey sauce, bypassing the savoury sandwiches he realises the boy hasn't moved.

By the way Steven is ogling the food and unconsciously licking his lips Brendan can tell he wants to eat, but is holding himself back. Americans have strange rules of conduct, how people are supposed to behave, how people from different class are supposed to interact. He's sure they have the same absurd restrictions back in Ireland, but as a boy Brendan was never in the presence of anyone rich enough or important enough for his demeanour to be of any importance.

He knows even the poorest of people have their pride and are never to been seen as begging or to openly accept charity. At some point in his life Steven has most likely been told he is not to eat if there is someone of higher social stature in the room, to wait until that person is done and then to eat from their scraps and leftovers.

Brendan knows the boy must be hungry, has heard the very audible rumble of Steven's stomach. His detective's report describes how Steven, his lady, Amy and their two children are toeing the line of poverty. Brendan can still recall what that is like, even when there is food it is spread thin, is never enough - too many mouth. As a child he was always hungry, it was just a feeling he adjusted to over time, a constant dull ache in his stomach that he learned to ignore.

He's not having this boy sit and watch him eat when in all likeliness he has yet to eat a thing today himself. Especially not because of some senses of unworthiness society has labelled him with. So he tells Steven, if he doesn't want to further offend his host he better start eating the food he has be so kindly offered, to eat to his heart's content.

Satisfied with the three sandwich triangles Steven has consumed and the slice of pie he is currently making his way through Brendan restarts their previous conversation, the entire reason for their meeting.

"I requested you meet with me so we could discuss a job opportunity that has recently come up in my staff. A job that I would like to offer to you."


	3. Chapter 3

**To electric violini, in all honesty I kind of agree with what you said about Ste being American, but for plot reasons he had to be. Bren is still Irish at least and Cheryl will still have an accent.**

**To the guest reviewer that asked about my other two stories, I'm still writing them. It's just that I don't currently have a charger for my laptop (and don't have the money to but a new one till payday) and all my notes and plot order are on my laptop. **

**Chapter 3**

_The ruckus being made by a woman begging to be let into the speak-easy was enough to draw Brendan's attention from his morning paper. He had been attempting to read an article on the shocking arrest of a local grocery store owner, for racketeering and extortion. However, every time he though the problem on the other side of the doors had been dealt with and resumed reading the piece __depicting_ an arrangement of Brendan's own creation in order to remove a competitor, the shouting restarted. 

_During business hours there were always guards situated at the entrance to keep out the unseemly, this included Brendan's enemies, anyone suspected of being an covert police officers and of course the poor and under class. However, it was just past nine in the morning, the saloon had not yet opened its doors for business. The place was empty, bar Brendan, who every morning would sit with his morning coffee and the newspaper, enjoying a rare silent moment to himself._

_With not a guards or henchman in sight, Christopher was left to placate the intoxicated woman alone, but was failing miserably. Brendan was sure by now every person in a one-mile radius knew the woman wanted access to the saloon to illegally obtain alcohol._

_When he first arrived in New York and joined his sister in the bootlegging business Brendan had been told the cautionary tale of a restaurant that had accidently offered a group of Prohibition Agents – simply out for a relaxing meal - a bottle of scotch. Brendan had no intention of meeting the same fate, his clientele was closely monitored and controlled._

_Of course, the police had their suspicion on what went on in the basement-bar of The Empire Hotel, but they could not arrest him on gossip and hearsay alone. But this, this could turn out to be a serious problem if the wrong people overheard, Brendan had to deal with the situation himself._

_/_

_"Christopher." _

_"Mr Brady, Sir." The man grimaced, was hoping to get control of the situation before his employer became involved. "I'm sorry for the disruption to your morning routine."_

_"What seems to be the problem here?" Brendan questioned, unable to hide his irritation and impatience._

_"From what I have be able to gathered from her incoherent slurs, Mrs Hay here would like to be served an alcoholic beverage. But as I have said a number of times, it is illegal to do so. This establishment does not partake in such activities." Christopher talked with such conviction - not an instant of hesitation, hitch in vocal-octave or waver in eye contact - that if Brendan didn't know better he would believe the man himself. _

_"Brendan, it's me, Pauline." The women says, grabbing ahold of him. "I just need a small drink, get me through the day and I'll be on my way." _

_'Great, an addict' Brendan thought to himself, just what he needed after such promising start to the day. He removed the woman's filthy hands from his crisp white shirt, trying to smooth it out and dust off the marks but it's no use, he'd have to change it._

_"Oh, and she claims to know you, Sir." Christopher informed him sounding almost amused, rolling his eyes in disbelief._

_"I do know him." The woman, Pauline, spits seemingly offended that anyone would dare doubt her. She spoke with the same conviction that Christopher had, and Brendan didn't know if he should believe her, but he believed she believed it._

_"You do?" _

_"Yes, when you where just a little boy." She adopted a sweet voice, smiling now. "You used to spend the summers her, over from Ireland."_

_"What did you say your name was?" Brendan asked, curiosity getting the better of him._

_"Pauline Hay. But, but I was Pauline Lomax back then. My late husband was the-"_

_"Concierge." He finished. "Yes I remember. Why don't you come in Mrs Hay? See if we can find you that drink."_

/

When talks of a job came up Steven couldn't believe what he was hearing. First he was driven to Manhattan like one of the Princes' of England, and then given free rein over what was practically a banquet and now Brendan Brady is offering him a job.

Steven's original plans for today involved washing the kids dirty clothes and begging their landlord for an extra couple of days, a week maybe to pay that months rent. Then he was going to walk the streets looking for a new job, as he'd lost his job at the butchers after being caught taking home unwanted cuts of beef. He tried to reason with his boss, it wasn't stealing because the excess and old meat was to be thrown away. It was a waste, and he a family at home who would be happy to eat it, Mr Finnegan wasn't having any of it though, said Ste should think himself luck that he hadn't reported him to the coppers.

This must be his luck day, but Ste is notoriously unlucky. Good things don't happen to people like him for no reason. The only explanation is that Mr Brady has him confused with somebody else, a case of mistake identity.

Not wanting to take up anymore more of the man's time, Ste thanks Mr Brady for his hospitality. Tells the Irishman he must be mistaken, that he definitely has the wrong man. Brady assures Ste, he is the person he's been looking for - _"looking for"_, as in actively seeking him out. Ste asks him why, why him? That's when Mr Brady tells him the story of his mother and how he had know his father.

The woman Mr Brady talks of is obviously a drunkard, loud and slurring her words. From what he can remember of his mother she is never not inebriated, even in the early hours, the woman in the story sounds like Paulin at least, but it doesn't answer all of Ste's questions.

Such as, why was it so important for Brady to find him? To offered him this job? What is the job? In fact it actually creates more questions, specifically questions about his father.

Ste doesn't know much about his old man, just what Pauline had told Him. He was a no good waste of space, was in with a gang and died, got himself shot. Leaving them with nothing, she always said they were better of with out him. Considering the hell he endured, growing up with Terry as his father figure, Ste had always found that hard to believe. But, if Brady knew his father, and he had worked for Mr Brady Senior then that must mean his mom was at least honest with him once. His father was a bad man, not the hero Ste had dreamt of as a child, saving him from Terry's clutches.

Ste wants to ask all these questions, but has been distracted for the last five minutes of Brady's story telling by the boy that has joined them. He is sat in the smaller of the two armchairs that are at the ends of the coffee table, Brady doesn't acknowledge his presence, just keeps talking as the teenager picks up a plate oh chocolate dessert and starts to eat, taking bites of different sandwiches between forkfuls of cake.

Ste remembers what Al had said, _"Mr Brady's a reasonable man". _The Irishman has been more than reasonable, offering food and easily forgiving Ste's accusations of kidnap. Al had also warned Ste, said something along the lines of: _as long as it is just the two of you Ste would be safe_, no the exact word he had used is _fine_. Surely, by _'fine' _the bellhop had meant no harm would come to him.

They are no longer alone, there is a third person in the room, and there is something about the coldness in the boy's eye that makes Ste nervous. Perhaps he is overreacting Ste reassures himself, because he is in fact just a boy, younger than Ste, sixteen, seventeen at the most. However, definitely not one of the Brady children.

His clothing isn't right, it's clean and somewhat expensive, but obviously not specifically tailored to his body, not the outfit of a businessman's son. The suite is a muted, grey-green colour, he is wearing a waistcoat but no suit jacket and the pocket is carelessly bunched up, untidy, the heir to a hotel would not been seen in public like this. Ste inspects the boys work boots, similar to his own – newer and cleaner, yes – but it is just another oddity, for him not to be wearing dress shoes. This is when Ste sees the knife holster around the boy's ankle where his trouser leg as ridden up.

"Steven."

He hears Brady calling his name and realises the man voice is breaking the quiet, that they've most likely been sitting in silence for some time now.

"Steven?" The Irishman repeats.

Ste finally looks up, making uncomfortable eye contact with the unnamed boy, realising he has been caught staring at the blade and both men are now watching him. The boy looks from Ste to the knife, and then rests his leg up on the table so the knife is in full view, smirking. He knows now that this boy is the person that Al was talking about, that he should be wary on the boy's presence, regardless of his age.

"Do you have a driver's license?" Mr Brady asks.

Ste looks away from the weapon, as he looks at Mr Brady he finally registers what the man has asked and is confused. He is sure that if he had heard the end of the story the question would make a lot more sense.

"I can drive, yes." He answers hoping it's the right response. "In the past I was a delivery boy, so I have some experience driving."

"That is not what was asked." The youngster corrects. "The question was whether or not you have a license, to legally drive."

"Oh, no then."

"Before you can officially accept to position of my driver, you will have to obtain your license." Brendan informs him.

"It is of the upmost that we keep up the appearance of upholding the law, especially when it is being broken."

"Joel."

Brendan doesn't say anything else, just the tone in which he says the boys name makes it obvious that he is reprimanding him. But the boy is either brave or stupid, because he answer's back.

"What?" The boy asks, looking at Brendan defiantly. "I gather you trust him, I mean you're giving him a job, as your _personal _driver. He's either in or he's not."

A job as Brendan Brady's personal driver? Ste is dazed, still not entirely sure why he's being offered this job. His father worked here over sixteen years ago, and then his drunken mother made a nuisance of herself. When Brady had first mentioned a job this is not what Ste had expected, a kitchen porter, grounds keeper, bellhop even… but a driver for Mr Brady himself?

He can't even begin to imagine how much he's wage would be, more than he has earned before that's for sure. He can't wait to tell Amy of their good fortune, unable to suppress the smile at his face. Then he sees the distasteful look he is receiving from the young boy, Joel, and the smile fades.

Ste thinks of the Joel's earlier words, about Brady trusting him, and him being _"in". _Then it hits him, Brendan Brady is an Irish gangster and Ste will probably be witness to illicit activities on a daily basis. Brady's expecting, trusting him to keep his mouth shut, to the police and his enemies. In accepting this job Ste could be making himself a target, but he is not entirely sure he actually has any choice in the matter. To decline an offer of employment, to risk offending Brady, the leader of the Irish Mob could prove to be just as dangerous.

**What do you guys think so far?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_In 1917, nine-year-old Joel Elijah Dexter discovered the murdered body of his mother, Marie Dexter. The little boy sat with her bloody and battered corpse for days, couldn't stand the thought of leaving her alone. Eventually, a neighbour noticed their absence around town and went knocking at their door._

_With no living family members on his mother's side, his stepfather missing – suspected of the murder of Marie – and the identity of his biological father unknown, Joel became a ward of the state. Being relatively young still, Joel's caseworker made several attempts to place him with a family, but the longest he stayed in any one place was three months. _

_They all said the same things. He was too damaged, too detached, compassionless and impulsive, showing no remorse for his actions, they couldn't risk have him around their other children. They didn't want him._

_After three years, then aged twelve, it was decided that Joel was unsuitable and no longer eligible for foster care or adoption. He was to reside in a long-term care home for adolescent boys located on a farm just outside of the city, until the time he became of age._

_The group home mostly consisted of older teenaged boy, making Joel the smallest, weakest and most vulnerable of the bunch. On his third night in the boys home – after having his food taken, blanket stolen, shoes filled with dog poo - Joel was sent to the hospital for injuries sustained during a fight, which broke out after another boy called him a bastard and the son of a tart. In that moment Joel knew he could no longer let himself be seen as a victim, not again, because if he had stood up for himself, for his mother, then maybe she would still be alive._

_Joel's wounds were all superficial and he was able to return to the house after one night, the other boy however, suffered two broken ribs and required stitches just above his eye. The nurse had said he was lucky not to have lost his sight. There were no further problems after that, Joel had made it clear to the other boys that we wouldn't be their punching bag, that he wasn't someone to mess with, wasn't a victim anymore. _

_/_

_Joel didn't mind living in the house, nobody touched him inappropriately - because he had heard of such things - nobody burnt him with the butt of their cigarette, and nobody beat him with a leather belt._

_After a few months Joel adjusted to the monotony of farm life. Up at the crack of dawn to do your chores, school, homework, dinner and then more chores before bed. They we're even given a small allowance for their efforts and allowed a few free hours at weekend for leisure time outside of the house. Life wasn't too bad, it was actually pretty good, but there was still something bothering him. Like an empty space in his very being and he didn't know what was missing – besides his mother obviously._

_Every so often a boy's parents would come looking for their child or some distant relative would want a child. Seeing all these families being reunited ignited a feeling Joel couldn't quite place, it felt like that hole inside of him was widening slowly. Eroding. _

_On his thirteenth birthday, with no blood relations to celebrate with, Joel realised that hole was from a lack of identity. He was just another case-number, on a long list of numbers used to identify all the faceless, nameless, and unwanted children of Canada. Cutting into the birthday cake made by the house's cook, the same generic sponge she made for every other boy, eleven candles instead on thirteen, Joel made the decision then and there to find his father._

_/_

_All Joel knew of his father was that he was an American, a man his mother had met in the time she spent in New York. Joel's mother had moved to the States with a friend when she was just seventeen, looking for a big break on the stage. Her story ended like that of so many other girls, in an unplanned, unwanted pregnancy. Still in her teens, with no money and no husband Marie travelled north to cross the boarder, returning home. _

_Mandy, the friend that his mother had moved to New York with had also returned to Canada, giving up on her dream of fame and fortune a few years later. The two women had remained close over the years and Joel knew Mandy was his only hope in finding his father. Knowing who Joel's father was Mandy implored the boy to stay away from the man, to let it go. However she had made a mistake, telling "Warren fox is only ever out for himself and has nothing to offer you". She had given him a name, vital information Joel had not perviously known. _

_Joel had always been stubborn and bullhead, and so despite Mandy's warnings and even an offer to take the boy in herself, Joel planned his escape form the farm. He needed to know where he came from and the possibility of being part of a family wasn't something he could just let go. Armed with a name and a general location, Joel packed up his few earthly belongings and travelled almost 500 miles from Toronto to New York._

/

"Joel? My office." Brendan demands, his irritation with the Canadian growing.

Brendan stands, waiting for the lad to pass him before following Joel into his office. Before walking through the door he turns to let Steven know they'll return in a moment, but the boy has that look on his face again. Mouth slightly open, eyes wide and unblinking, it must be the shock.

"Steven, have slice of Victoria sponge and another tea." Hopefully the sugar will help.

"What is going on with you?" Brendan asks once he and Joel are alone, door closed behind them.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"I'm not a mind reader and I don't have time for this. Busy day, so if that's it I'm going to get back to-"

"- Steven." The boy looks offend and hurt. "What is it about that boy? You have people scouring the city for some Brooklyn kid, for weeks. This young helpless kid with nothing and nobody, and here you are to help, offering him a job – story sound familiar?"

Brendan hadn't seen this coming, although maybe he should have, hide sight is twenty-twenty after all. There are so many similarities between himself and his young protégée. Losing their mother's at a young age, being discarded by their fathers for being illegitimate.

When he was younger Brendan felt rejected, that he was inferior and a burden to those around him. He had always feared that he'd be replaced - even after marriage and becoming a father - that his family would see the abomination he really was and leave. If Brendan were to be honest with himself, he'd admit that he still feels all these things, that he can in fact wholly empathise with Joel.

"Joel you have been with me for years, ever loyal, you think that I'd replace you? You think you are that easy to replace? You think that little of me? After everything we've been through."

"No, of course not."

"So you think that little of yourself?" The Irishman questions.

"You offered him _my_ job, I can run rings around small fry out there." Joel points to the next room, voice raised slightly in aggression but hurt clear in his eyes.

"I thought you had more ambition than that? You plan on driving me around for the rest of your days? You obviously don't know your worth."

"I want to stand by your side." He tells the older man, voice strong, determined.

"And I want you by my side. Steven is here to free up your time for other actives, greater responsibilities."

"I feel like I was just promoted and instead of thanking you, I made wild accusations."

"There seems to be a lot of that going around today." Brendan can't help but wonder if there's a flaw in the way he delivers good news. "Lets get back out there."

/

"Steven, I assume you've had sufficient time to think over my offer."

"It's Ste." He corrects.

"Ste?"

"My name, everybody calls me Ste."

"That the name on your birth certificate?" Because honestly, Brendan cannot stand it when people shorten the names they were given at birth to something senseless. For instant William to Billy, it doesn't even make sense. Ste isn't even a name, it is a monosyllable sound. "That the name your parent's gave you?"

"Well no, but-" Steven begins to defend before being cut off.

"Then I'm going to continue to call you Steven, Steven." He tells the boy with a smile that is all teeth.

"Erm, right. Okay."

"And your decision?"

"Decision?"

"On the job, are you going to accept it."?

"Yes, of course. I mean I can't wait to tell my Amy and the kids, they ain't going to believe it. I'm not sure if I believe it. Thank you so much, I mean really." Brendan doesn't normally allow or entertain over excited babbling, but Brendan indulges the boy. Just this once, because it's nice to see a person truly appreciate an opportunity, wanting to provide for his family. "Thank you for this chance, Mr Brady." Steven says earnestly, one finial nervous smile crossing his lips.

"Not a problem. Now, tomorrow will be your first official-"

"What abo-" Steven stops, mouth open still wide open in an 'O' shape, realising he has interrupted Brendan. There's a moment of tension, Brendan brow raised, looking questioningly at Steven because he is not used to people cutting him off. "What about my license? You said I couldn't drive without it." Steven continues, probably deciding it was better to just keep talking.

"That shouldn't take too long to have organised. Your second role is to act as my assistant, you shall provide me with anything I may want or need. This includes but is not limited to answering my telephone calls, arranging dinner reservations and keeping track of my correspondences."

"Coras- correspondences?" Steven questions.

"Yes, communication with my associates through the exchange of letters."

At that the boy looks rather panicked.

"Joel will instruct you on how to carry you're your tasks and how to behave in different situations." He says for reassurance, but this only seems to make the boy more alarmed. "It's all very simple, I assure you."

Brendan's not sure when it happened, but Joel has moved from the armchair he normally sits in to the sofa that Steve has been occupying, not an inch of air between the two boys. He is sat with his right ankle crossed over left knee, arm stretched out across the back of the sofa and is leaning over into the other boy's personal space, lips almost touching Steven's ear as he speaks.

"As Brendan's, Mr Brady's assistants you will see things, hear things-" At this point he cups Steven's face, squeezing with force as he turns Steven so that they are making eye contact. "-and so discretion is of up most importance. If you can't be trusted I'll have to put you down." Joel tell the Steven matter of factly. "You understand?" He does't wait for an answer, just uses the firm vice he has on Steven's face to stimulate a nodding motion.

Brendan doesn't necessarily think this performance is needed – Steven's father was a noble and trustworthy man and so Brendan is willing to give Steven the befit of the doubt. But Joel did learn the overdramatic, menacing madman routine from Brendan, he can't hold it against the boy. And so when Steven turns his head as much as Joel will allow, looking at Brendan for help or intervention the man doesn't react.

After staring into Steven's wide and frightened eyes Joel seems to be satisfied and lets go, smiling and saying _"good", _before preparing his own cup of tea. Brendan has gotten used to Joel's quirks over the years, to his more eccentric traits. But Steven is watching the Canadian, absentmindedly enjoying what must now be a lukewarm tea, like Joel has lost his mind. The majority of the time Joel came off as more than a little unstable, but he is going to be Brendan's second for a reasons - as soon as Brendan figured out how to remove Trevor Royle from the situation - the boy knows what he is doing, always got results.

"Well, I think that covers everything." Brendan says cheerfully, rising from his seat. "Steven, we shall see you bright and early tomorrow."

/

**Not the best end but I've had this written for days and didn't know how to end it so I've given up and just posted it.**

**Joel in this story is a little different to canon Joel, still looking for a father figure but he's actually a decent criminal. He's also slightly insane, you will find out more about that when I write more of his back story, and what happens when he meets Warren.**


End file.
